Innocent Pistol
by DoubleoTrouble
Summary: Their blood ran thick through my fingers as I ran my hand through the fountain. I drew my hand up, the crimson staining my nails, dripping back into the pool as I knelt over the edge. I could almost see my reflection in the deep red liquid. The scene was picturesque... (oneshot, demon dean)


_**A/N: This is from Demon Dean's POV**_

Their blood ran thick through my fingers as I ran my hand through the fountain. I drew my hand up, the crimson staining my nails, dripping back into the pool as I knelt over the edge. I could almost see my reflection in the deep red liquid. The scene was picturesque.

And yet, the bodies rotting beside the fountain tainted the stillness. They had been there nearly two days, carved by my own hands. Flies had crawled over their flesh, and rats were tearing at it, their little feet leaving footprints around the park.

I was alone, now. The battle was done. I looked around. Central park was littered with bodies, and the stench of death was heavy as I stepped past them.

I spotted familiar faces among the corpses, and with a curt smile I left them, not even the thought of a goodbye tracing my lips. Death takes away the names of all men. Eventually, all of their memory is forgotten. Death belittles life, as it only matters when it exists.

I hummed softly, the only voice in the dead town. It echoed as it bounced off the walls, creating an eerie sound, mincing my hum with discordant notes.

I froze suddenly, a different grating sound filling my ears, cursing my song. Footsteps. It was as though with every click of his shoes, another piece of my sanity fell from my hands.

"Who are you?" I called, my voice dripping with an empty promise.

The footsteps came to a halt, the last click having been behind my back. For a moment, there was another taste of silence. In truth, there is no such thing as silence, as it is only the belief that there is nothing to be heard.

I turned around to face him. Immediately my eyes darted to the face of the young boy in front of me. He could not have been older than twelve, and his long brown hair was matted.

I found myself wanting to reach out and tousle it, but my gaze settled on the gun he held shakily in his left hand. It was beautiful. It reminded me of one I had adored when I was young. He was not deserving of such a thing. I decided to relinquish him of it.

"What are you doing here, kid?" I asked. The thought of killing the boy had begun to cross my mind. It should have been my first thought, after what had happened two days ago, but perhaps just this once I would show mercy. That is, should he simply give me that gun, as well as answer my questions.

His breaths were scattered, eccentric, and his heartbeat was as flitting as the rodents' scurrying through the bodies of the dead. A sugar-sweet smile stretched my lips, and he gripped that stunning gun tighter.

This boy wishes to kill me? Oh, so be it then. Let him try. I reached forward, and touched the hand in which he held the gun, and he recoiled in disgust, before shouting and looking as though he were about to try to shoot me.

I grabbed his wrist, twisting it until the gun fell from his hand, landing with a clatter on the stones. Several rats moved away in fear of the sound, before going back to their tasks. The boy should not have tried to sully that beautiful gun.

He tried to wrestle his hand free, but as I gripped it tighter he let out a strangled sound, and stopped struggling altogether. His pitiful brown eyes stared into mine full of anger and hatred, holding not a shred of the defeat they should have held. I glanced at the gun lying on the stones, and decided I would retrieve it later, after I killed the boy.

I threw him to the side, drawing my own gun and then pointing it at his throat I demanded, "Why do you wish to kill me, boy?! Did I kill someone you know? At least tell me so I know who you're trying to avenge."

A low growl escaped his throat as he lay limp. This boy truly puzzled me.

I stood over him, and his eyes never left mine as I spoke, "Answer me, if you do not wish to die, boy. At least tell me your name."

At long last the boy spoke, but not in answer to my inquisitions, "Did you really think I'd answer your question knowing who you are?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," I chuckled, and let my eyes turn black.

"I'll burn you."

The blood on my fingers suddenly felt cold, "Burn me?"

"And after you burn slowly, I'll have the hellhounds piss on your carcass so even in Hell the other demons won't be able to stand the stench of you," the boy spat through his teeth, rubbing his wrist.

I couldn't hold back a laugh, "Right, sure. But seriously, what've I done to you, kid? Who am I to you?"

He had sat up, and his eyes were in slits as he replied, never once looking at the sword pointed at his throat, "You forced someone I know very well to slaughter his own family."

I furrowed my eyebrows, confusion fogging my brain. I had no idea what he was trying to say. I decided to kill him, take that gun, and move along.

I put my finger on the trigger, already envisioning the boy's head being blasted through… blood dripping from his temple as he felt back onto the stones

As I was about to shoot, his voice cut through the air, "How about we play a game?"

"A game?" I let the sword fall to my side, curiosity encompassing my voice.

"Yes. A game. Who am I? If you can guess that, I'll answer your questions. If you can't I'll just kill myself instead, and you'll never find out who I am." He had reached the pistol, and was gripping it tightly. I growled when I saw he had taken it again. He wouldn't dare bloody that pistol, would he?

"Fine. Do I get any hints?" I replied with a sly grin.

"July 4th, 1996," He looked straight at me then, and the blood drained from my face. It couldn't be. No… it didn't even look like him. He was dead, he died a long time ago, hell I killed him! I killed him, damn it! How could he be back, so young, so alive?!

I finally said hesitantly, "Sammy?"

The boy stood up, and I made no attempt to stop him, "Hey, big brother."

The gun in my hand clattered to the stones, shock overwhelming my base instincts, "You're dead, Sam."

"Apparently, I'm not."

"Well, this is a surprise," I clapped my hands together, "I'm guessing that gun is what I think it is…?"

"That's right."

I made a step towards him, and before I could make any move to stop him, he pulled the trigger.

"You forced me to kill my family," He choked out.

As I fell, the blood on my hands was my own. I watched my brother stand over me. As I felt myself begin to die, he moved away, coming back moments later with dry wood, and a torch.

He lined the wood around me, and I watched him, still wanting to reach out and tousle that matted brown hair of his. He threw down the gun, and my own bloodied fingers were able to brush over its defiled metal. My voice had left me, and his voice echoed with finality, the voice of my innocent little brother.

"Burn in Hell, demon."


End file.
